


Fae'd Away

by BlueRoboKitty



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - Fae, Amnesia, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dark, Explicit Language, Folklore, Horror, Mild Cannibalism, Monsters, Multi, Nightmares, Psychological Horror, Romance, Sexual Content, Shirogane brothers, Slow Burn, Urban Fantasy, established klance, general fae weirdness and shenanigans, i get pretty descriptive guys, lance flirts hard with everyone, lots of blood is involved, mentions of shance and allurance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7947772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRoboKitty/pseuds/BlueRoboKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takashi Shirogane has so much going for him, good looks, a personality to match, a decorated Air Force pilot, a family that loves him more than anything. And then one morning he wakes up to discover that it’s a year later and his right arm, along with that year’s worth of memories, is missing. Worse, his brother Keith is acting strangely distant and for some reason is “too busy” to see him. In fact, something about this town isn’t the same at all, as if his disappearance has made Shiro sensitive to anything out of place. Accidents that aren’t really accidents. Drownings. Desecrated dead. And the prickly feeling that something is always watching him just out of the corner of his vision. </p><p>He soon learns that there is a world that sits right next to ours and yet could not be farther away. And in that world just beyond the border of his imagination is an immortal princess he is fated to serve for all time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foxfire

**Author's Note:**

> This fic still has so much to be outlined and detailed but OMG I am just too excited I wanted to post the first chapter, I've been working on this for a few weeks now, itching to write some awesome horror involving VLD. Horror is my true jam, yall, and anyone who follows my personal tumblr (bluerobokitty) knows that I reblog the occasional horror art/aesthetic especially if fae are involved. So on board the AU bandwagon I jumped. 
> 
> Word of warning, I am not kidding when I say that there will be graphic depictions of blood and gore. I get pretty descriptive. So, yeah, lots of blood stuff. 
> 
> This is also my first Shallura-centric fic so I'm pretty excited about that, too! Shiro is really fun to write. I've written from his perspective before but not in this much depth, so it's an adventure. I hope I do our space dad justice! Don't worry, there are plenty of Klance hijinks to be had, too, for those who prefer my Klance stuff. They have their own sub-plot going on. 
> 
> I don't really plan on updating this fic very quickly, but it'll be at least bi-weekly, so please be patient. I hope you enjoy your stay!

_"Those who seek us surely find us_  
_See the trail we leave behind us_  
_Some bewildered, some enlightened_  
_Some are brave, some are frightened_  
_Are we kind or are we vicious?_  
_Nectar poison or delicious?_  
_That, my sweet, you will discover_  
_Faery foe, or faery lover"_  
[Gary Stadler and Wendy Rule _\- “Dance of the Wild Faëries”_](https://youtu.be/CvLbctdFjr8)

 

* * *

Shiro tried not to squint as the little bead of light hit his pupil, harmless but briefly blinding all the same. “Mmmhmm,” the Major muttered, and flashed the penlight in Shiro’s other eye. Major Thompson was a small man who had pretty much lost all his grey hair and should have retired ten years ago, eyes tired behind tiny glasses. He smelled like the hospital, mint and latex. “Good, good. And you said you don’t wear glasses or contacts?”

“Correct, sir,” Shiro replied respectfully as Thompson put away the light and wrote something on his clipboard. The sound of scribbling accompanied the steady beeping of the machines attached to Shiro’s body, monitoring his vitals, keeping his body hydrated, soothing his nerves with a mild painkiller. 

“How’s the arm?” he asked, voice soft with gentle bedside manner perfected from years of practice with patients and grandchildren alike.

Shiro squirmed slightly beneath his blanket, smiling a bit through his discomfort. “Itchy.”

The painkiller kept the area where his metal prosthetic arm, courtesy of the United States Air Force, joined with his shoulder just above the bicep from hurting him too badly, but it did nothing for the _itch._ The nurses told him that was to be expected; it was some kind of psychological reaction to not having his arm anymore, a phantom pain in the form of a really bad itch. Worse, sometimes he felt the itch just beneath the prosthetic itself where there was no flesh at all.

He wiggled his fingers, something he usually did whenever the subject of his right arm came up, and while they did move on command, he felt nothing for it. He had to admit that, once he pushed past the revulsion of one his limbs having been replaced by robot parts, it was kind of cool looking, a cybernetic enhancement of gleaming obsidian and chrome that made gentle whirring noises with every move he made. It actually would not have made a bad replacement at all if he could _feel_ with it. That and if it wasn’t for the horrifyingly surreal fact that his right arm, his real one, was _no longer attached to him._

“Well, Captain Shirogane, looks like you are holding up quite well given the circumstances,” Thompson said as he put the clipboard aside and began cleaning his glasses. “MIA for a year, no memories of that time, missing your right arm…”

Shiro sank a little against his pillow. Everyone talked about his ordeal around him like he hadn’t just lived through it, even if he didn’t remember all the details. His missing arm was a pretty good indicator that some things were just better left forgotten.

“Yet, you are relatively healthy despite these circumstances. A little worse for wear, but all of your screenings look good. No indicators of any immediate concerns. After some more tests just to make sure everything is as right as rain, we can discharge you earlier than expected. Provide you continue with your weekly physical and psychological therapy, of course.”

There was a knock on the door, and a civilian nurse poked her head in. “Excuse me, Captain Shirogane, Colonel Iverson is here to see you.”

“We’re pretty much done here, so don’t keep the man waiting,” Thompson said, and Shiro had barely nodded his confirmation before the man himself stepped into the room. The doctor stood to attention, and while it wasn’t expected of Shiro to adhere to the more nitpicky customs and courtesies considering he was strapped to a hospital bed, he sat up straighter all the same.

Unlike small, round Thompson, Colonel Iverson, who was possibly even older, was a massive man with broad shoulders, barrel chest, and an imitating presence most never got used to. He was the commander of the Galaxy Garrison, one of the most prestigious military tech schools in the world, a joint force operation specializing in space exploration. The Garrison even had its own unique service dress uniform to distinguish themselves from the rest of the military, a uniform which Iverson now wore. It was the Garrison’s hospital Shiro had woken up in.

“How are you feeling, Shirogane?” Iverson asked as Thompson left the room.

Shiro shrugged. “Not too bad, sir. Mostly just tired.”

“How’s the arm?”

If he had a nickel for every time he heard that question, he could retire before thirty. “Getting a bit more used to it,” he lied. He was never going to get used to it, no matter how many months, years of physical therapy they had scheduled for him. “Dr. Thompson says I am making good progress. I might be out of here much sooner than expected.”

“Good, good.”

Shiro must have made some kind of reaction despite his determination not to because the hard lines on Iverson’s face softened considerably. The separation paperwork had already gone through. Once Shiro was discharged out of the hospital, he would no longer be serving. Gone. With a simple signature. Just like that.

“Shiro,” Iverson began quietly, using the nickname everyone he’s ever served with had given him. “You are one of, if not the best pilot who has served in military history. If you’re up for it, you still have a place in the Air Force even after you're released.”

Shiro blinked in surprise.

“It’s a teaching position, a flight instructor at the Galaxy Garrison to be specific. You'll still be a civilian, but same pay, same benefits, none of the ridiculous dog-and-pony show, and you'll pass on your skills to the next generation of commissioned officers. Again, only if you are interested – “

“I am.”

The words were out of Shiro’s mouth before he had a chance to form the thought in his mind.

Iverson raised an eyebrow, lips curling at little as if pleased by Shiro’s determination. “That was quick. You still have a few weeks to think it over, discuss it with your family if you need to.”

Shiro shook his head with a small smile. “I'll be separated the moment I step out of this hospital. Other than flying, there’s really nothing else I want to do. Teaching those kids how to fly seems like the next best thing.”

And it was, really. Shiro could still remember in vivid, exciting detail the day he received his acceptance letter to the Garrison, the day he flew a real space ship for the first time, the day he graduated four years later at the tender age of twenty-two with honors.

Had that really only been three, no, four years ago?

Had everything he had accomplished, including going missing, all been within just the span of four short years?

Shiro’s brain twisted behind his eyes. This always happened whenever he tried to remember anything before… before he woke up in this hospital room finding out he was going on twenty-six even though he could have sworn he had gone to bed only twenty-four.

“I’ll send up the paperwork by next Thursday,” Iverson continued. “If you change your mind before then, give me a call.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Rest well, Captain.”

Once Iverson left, Shiro released a heavy sigh and slumped back down in his bed, sliding until the blanket touched his chin. It turned out to not be the most comfortable position for his back, so he pressed one of the side buttons to recline the bed a bit more.

Colonel Iverson had been command of the Galaxy Garrison even back when Shiro was just a cadet. It was unheard of for someone to be in command of a base for that length of time, two years was the usual command tour, but nobody could run the Garrison like Iverson could and the Air Force couldn’t bring itself to replace him. They even wrote a special reg just for him. He had been as intense back then as he was now, demanding students to give their all and never accepting excuses or anything less than a thousand percent. Most of Shiro’s class had been terrified by Iverson, but Shiro learned that once you pushed past the surface of militant passion, he was a trove of advice and guidance in not only the military but life itself. Iverson was a critical man and gave little praise, but goddamn if Shiro didn’t become a better pilot under his watch.

Still, this gentle exchange they just had came as huge surprise, and his generous job offer made Shiro’s future seem not as bleak as he first imagined when he woke up with a missing arm and a year’s worth of missing memories only to be disposed of like many veterans before him.

Bored now, Shiro reached for his bed remote lying by his side, glancing briefly at the colorful pile of blooming flowers and get-well cards sitting on the table next to him. His mother would be back later tonight with homemade dinner and even more flowers. Hell, if she didn’t have work, she would be here right now. It’s been a few weeks since he woke up, and she still burst into tears whenever she walked into the room to see her son lying in the hospital bed.

The worst thing about military hospitals was that the channels were so bland. A few local networks, the military channel of course, one travel channel, and five different sports channels for some reason. No cartoons. At least he hadn’t missed this year’s Superbowl, he supposed, though he had never been all that interested in the technical talk when it came to sports and that’s pretty much what most of these channels were these days. Talk, talk, talk, not an actual game to sit back and enjoy for its own sake. This was why he preferred going to games in person surrounded by a cheering crowd and delicious food and some good beer.

Shiro changed the channel, and his heart skipped when his own face appeared on the screen. One local station was broadcasting the interview they had with him a few days ago when he was considered well enough to be out of bed to sit through one. He was wearing his Air Force service dress for the last time in his career, still a Captain until they finally boot him out of the hospital in the not-so-distant future. It hadn’t been much of an interview, mostly talks about his accomplishments before his disappearance. He couldn’t even remember the details of _how_ he’d vanished to begin with, but he had to give the reporters _something_. There had been many theories; most said the last time he had been seen was just before he flew out on a sortie. Terrorists, probably, some kind of sick intimidation tactic, a statement that they could take whomever they wanted. But no group had claimed responsibility, and he just showed up at the Garrison a year later completely out of nowhere with only the stained jumpsuit on his back.

God, was that really what he looked like now?

The man on the television definitely did not look like a man a few months shy of twenty-six. The front of his hair was a forelock of white, ashen skin pulled tight over his face, eyes sunk deep in their sockets, wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, and a deep scar stretched across his nose. He looked so worn, so _old._ Like an entire decade had passed over that face, not just a year. Shiro had seen himself in the mirror already, the same shock then, just like the shock when he showered for the first time and saw the many scars that lined his muscular body matching the one on his face. Yet, on TV, it seemed different. Like he was no longer blinded by his own perceptions of his reflection; this was really, _truly_ what he looked like, right now, in this moment.

Shiro flipped the channel. He would rather listen to boring football player statistics than to the rasp of the much older man struggling with futility to recollect the events that happened before his disappearance.

 

* * *

 

Natsuko Shirogane did not cry this time when she came in for her daily visit, finally completely processed the shock of her son being truly alive and well after going missing for a year, and she brought a container of warm gyudon at Shiro’s request since he had no dietary restrictions keeping him from eating outside food. It had been so long since he had homemade gyudon, even since he had joined the Garrison and therefore unable to go home as often. He had been long overdue for some straight up comfort food, and it was better than asking for something from McDonald's (although some chicken nuggets and greasy fries didn't sound like a bad idea, either). Natsuko always made the beef bowl with her own special twist to the sauce, something cheap American chains could not hope to replicate and would only taste of disappointment in comparison. 

At least he learned a long time ago how to hold _hashi_ in his left hand; he couldn’t feel the chopsticks with his right and they kept slipping from his fingers with every attempt. Or worse, he would misjudge his grip and snap them apart like he had done the first time he ate a home cooked meal. He had been able to feel his mother’s eyes on him even when she wasn’t actually looking, and so he resolved to eat left-handed. He was probably going to have to do a lot of things left-handed for a while.

There was a moment of silence once their chitchat about how both their days went came to an end, and Shiro was finishing up the last of his dinner. “(There's something I wanted to talk to you about),” Natsuko said in their native Japanese, her Osaka accent not nearly as thick since moving to the States just before Shiro was born. “(It’s about Keith).”

Shiro swallowed a piece of thin beef and rice almost without chewing. Keith was his younger brother, adopted into the Shirogane family when he was about seven, clinging to thirteen-year-old Shiro like he was the only trustworthy person in the world. Keith’s previous foster family hadn’t exactly been very diligent in their care for him, to put it vaguely.

“(What about Keith)?” Shiro asked, responding in kind. “(Is he okay?)”

Strangely, he hadn’t seen Keith yet or heard anything from him other than a text message shortly after he woke up: [ _Hey it’s good to have you back. I’m sorry I can’t come see you right now. Very busy with Garrison stuff. I’ll come by as soon as I can. Missed you._ ] Keith had never been a young man of words, but there was something oddly pragmatic about his message. Like he had sent it out of obligation. 

He hadn’t heard anything since, not even when he'd sent multiple messages asking Keith how he had been, how was the Garrison treating him, and when could Shiro expect to see him.

Natsuko sighed. “(Well, he’s been having some disciplinary issues at the Garrison since you went missing. He might just be lashing out but) – ” She trailed off. 

“(We both know how temperamental he can get sometimes),” Shiro replied with a small smile, placing his mostly empty bowl on the tray and pushing it aside. “(Now that he knows I’m back, he’ll settle down again. He probably just needs some space).”

“(That’s just it. He’s doing so well in the Garrison. Just like you, he also has natural skill and he's at the top of his class. But he lacks your discipline. He told me they gave him some paper for his rather unruly behavior. Some kind of letter)? Reprimanding letter?" 

"Letter of Reprimand?" 

"(Yes)."

Oh, great. An LOR wasn't career breaking this early, but it wasn't a good start, either. And it wasn't like leadership handed out LORs for kicks, either. Whatever Keith was doing, he wasn't correcting his behavior, and now he was building up a paper trail of disciplinary issues. Not a good start to his career, at all. 

Natsuko wrung her fingers together, quietly popping the knuckles as she chewed on her lower lip, habits whenever she felt like she was losing control of a situation. “(I just want him to do well).” When she looked at Shiro, he was shocked to see her eyes, as black as his own, were watery with unshed tears.

“(We didn’t give up on you, Takashi! Never! But Keith, he's... he's still so young. He wanted to postpone entering the Garrison to look for you, like actually look for you on his own. But I stopped him. I insisted he enroll. I insisted that he move on. We had a... an argument. And, well, he hasn’t spoken to me the same since then, and I’m afraid) – “

“(This isn’t your fault, Mom. You’re right, he’s young and enrolling in the Garrison is the opportunity of a lifetime, he shouldn’t put his life on hold just for me. He’ll come around. He always does).” He held out his arms to pull his mother in a comforting embrace, and her shoulders shook with the emotion she hadn’t quite cried out yet. It stunned Shiro how frail and light she felt in his arms, considering how she had been an unmovable pillar of strength as he grew up. 

Yet, he still couldn’t feel her warmth beneath the touch of his right hand.

 

* * *

 

[ _Mom is worried about you. She thinks you’re mad at her._ ]

It was difficult typing on his phone with his left hand, but he didn’t want to risk breaking it in his right and he couldn’t feel the tiny vibration beneath his cyborg thumb whenever he tapped on the digital keypad so that kind of threw him off, anyway.

Shiro sent the message as soon as Natsuko left for the night with a promise that she will bring the rest of the family with her on her next visit. Just another one of the several messages Shiro had sent to Keith over the past week with no response. Just like how every time he called, only Keith’s voicemail answered. He gritted his teeth; Keith was so frustrating to deal with whenever he became this stubborn. And he was, admittedly, a little hurt by this cold shoulder he was getting. Keith hadn’t even been to see him yet, and based on his behavior their mother described, he should have broken down the door the moment they admitted Shiro to the hospital. 

Had he ever been this distant? Shiro didn’t think so.

The Shirogane family had fostered Keith for about a year before finally adopting him. Despite the no doubt alienating feeling of a child with Korean descent living with a Japanese family, Keith had been treated no less than an actual blood relation, and the close relationship that had developed lead to his adoption to begin with. Shiro had always wanted a sibling, his childhood a little lonely with both his parents working and no other children in the house to play with. His grandmother could be a lot of fun, but she was not nearly as energetic as she used to be and old people liked to take very long and very boring naps on occasion. Shortly after Keith was fostered, the two boys became closer than brothers despite their age gap, telling each other everything, never keeping secrets, never letting barriers come between them.

Then Keith hit puberty, and while Keith became no more or less angry or rebellious than other teenagers, Shiro could sense a slight distance growing between him and the rest of the family. It was to be expected. Keith was coming into his own. And besides the normal pains of growing up, he had been saddled with the baggage that came along with being an orphan, not knowing exactly where he came from, about his own heritage.

But he never flat-out _ignored_ everyone. Not until now, at least.

The sudden chime of his phone made Shiro jump. His social life had been mostly silent while his friends waited for him to recover and resume his normal life. The message was most likely from Paul, drunk and bored on a Friday night as usual, nobody to play with on Xbox since everyone was now worn out from the current popular game and the next hype wouldn’t be released for another month or two. Maybe Shiro should have someone bring his Xbox to the hospital because he had certainly missed a few releases he had been looking forward to playing. Wait, how would his right arm react to a game controller even? Would he have a better reaction time? Would that be considered cheating?

Shiro nearly dropped his phone; Keith’s icon had popped up on the notification screen, face mostly hidden beneath black bangs but they couldn't hide the gentle smile. At least the boy hadn’t gone completely heartless, responding almost immediately when their mother was involved.

[ _Tell her I’m sorry. I’m not mad at her or anything like that. I’m just really busy._ ]

The irritation that suddenly gripped at Shiro’s gut was so severe, he would have felt better if Keith hadn't bothered responding at all. He typed back furiously – well, as furiously as he could with his left hand, trying to reply with something not riddled with typos and weird autocorrect.

[ _You can tell her yourself. You can’t be that busy. You haven’t even visited me yet. This isn’t like you. What are you doing? Are you in trouble?_ ]

Keith’s message popped up before Shiro had a chance to hit ‘send’.

[ _I don’t expect you to understand right now. Please just trust me. I’ll see you soon I promise._ ]

Shiro sighed, suddenly very tired as he erased the message he had spent all that time typing out to a simple [ _Ok. At least talk to Mom._ ]

_Ding!_

[ _I will._ ]

Shiro quickly replied with [ _And please let me know if something's wrong._ ] 

There was no answer for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

_Tink! Tink tink! Tink!_

The sound picked right into Shiro’s brain until he stirred awake, opening his eyes to a room that was lit only by the dim glow of the hallway light seeping from beneath the door and the blinking monitors.

_Tink tink tink!_

He listened harder, trying to register what that sound could be because it was far too irritating to ignore. Tapping. A light tapping but sharp, like a knife poking against glass. At first he thought it was one of the machines and debated calling a nurse in to put a stop to the sound, but there was no indication on the panels that anything was out of the ordinary.

_Tink tink tinktinktinktinktinktinktink!_

The window. Something was tapping against the window.

_Tink tinktinktink tink tink!_

God, it didn’t even feel like it was coming from the window so much as _inside_ his head. With a groan, Shiro stood to his feet and wheeled his IV along with him as he padded across the floor to chase away whatever it was making that sound. What time was it even because, shit, it was _dark_ outside. Like _really_ dark. He recalled the weather channel, another program he had watched out of boredom, report that it was supposed to be clear tonight but the sky was an inky, starless void. Like someone had covered the window with thick black paper from the outside. Or the window wasn't actually a window, just a wall decoration.

The tapping stopped the moment Shiro reached the sill. Nothing out there. No lights of the base or the city just beyond that mountain. No desert that stretched out toward the mesas that usually stood tall against the sky. As if only the hospital existed. Okay, that was freaky. Shiro shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, something gnawing just beneath his brain. 

He opened his eyes to look again and this time there was something. He had to strain to see, but, yes, definitely something. A soft blue glow floated out there in that void. If he looked harder… the glow seemed to flicker like blue fire.

Didn’t _obaachan_ talk about such things back when he was a child, something to do with one of her many folktales she entertained both him and Keith with as they stared up at her with wide eyes, caught up in her words? Mysterious blue fire, don’t go near them, don’t acknowledge them, because something nasty was waiting for you there.

That ache in the back of his eyes returned with a swiftness of someone slamming a blade right into his brain. Shiro cried out from the sudden pain and stumbled back a few steps, and somehow he managed to reach through the agony to catch his IV before it fell over. He clung to the cold pole as he waited for the pain to wash over, breathing hard. Anytime he tried to remember anything from that past year, his head hurt just like this, and now it throbbed when he was only trying to remember his grandmother’s stories.

 _Those are just stories. Those are just stories, and this is just a stress dream._ Yes, that was exactly what was happening here. He was just dreaming. He used to get many stress dreams back at the Garrison, usually from a bout of performance anxiety the night before a simulation flight test. Much as everyone praised him for his natural talent, Shiro knew most of it came from the immense pressure he felt to exceed everyone’s expectations.

Just like now he felt the pressure to resolve whatever was going on with Keith.

Now that he acknowledged the dream around him, Shiro felt lighter as he wheeled his IV back to bed and crawled beneath the thin blanket. He fell back into a dreamless void before his head hit the pillow.

Whatever had been at his window didn’t disturb him for the rest of the night.


	2. Barrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith comes over for a surprise visit, bringing his "friend" Lance along, and Shiro not only notices that there is something more between the two of them, but even he can't resist Lance's natural charm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments, you guys! I'm glad this fic got a very good reception, especially since it's a bit darker than what I usually write for this fandom. Once again, this fic is on a slower update schedule, and gets pretty gross in some parts. I definitely up the macabre a bit at the end here, so you can pretty much expect that level of blood stuff or more. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Shiro’s new apartment was much like his old one in that it had two bedrooms and one bathroom and perfectly sized for a single person who didn't plan on hosting any wild parties anytime soon. The layout was different and the kitchen opened into the living room, separated by a counter instead of a wall, but all his furniture and possessions his family had saved for him during his absence were all here. Packed away mostly in boxes, except for the bigger pieces like the entertainment center and the couch, but here all the same.

He sipped some fresh coffee, heavy on the cream, that Saturday morning as he stared at a promising long day of unpacking sprawled out in his kitchen and crowding the living room. The most he had done was plug in his Xbox to the TV, set up his bedroom, and unpack the dishes. Cocoa wrapped her fluffy black body around his legs, mewing for food. He refilled her bowl by the cat tower, and she leaped into a box filled with books, simply satisfied that she no longer had to see the bottom of her dish. With a shake of his head and giving her ears a few affectionate scratches, Shiro returned to his coffee and nursing his motivation. 

He had never been much of a coffee person before he joined the Air Force, and now he felt like he couldn’t get enough of the stuff. Helped keep those early mornings bearable when he was greeted by a mountain of paperwork, a not so subtle reminder of his officer duties to fulfill once he finished clocking in his flying hours for the day.

It felt so weird moving into a new place when it felt like merely weeks ago, he was living just fine on his own in a completely different apartment in a completely different neighborhood in town. That old apartment had long since been cleaned out, and this new one was located on base courtesy of Garrison housing for active duty and Garrison employed veterans.

Veteran. _Mr._ Shirogane instead of _Captain_ Shirogane.

That was going to take some getting used to.

Even if he still didn't feel like he had missed any time at all.

He definitely missed out on a few things, however. New video games to catch up on. New internet slang he didn't understand. The local news was filled with all these weird events like the presidential election instead of the preliminary campaigns, people getting shot over a monster hunting mobile game, and bodies being dug up in the city graveyard and missing some vital organs because kids these days.

Keith had finally come to visit him just yesterday after class, and Shiro had waved away his numerous apologies for being too busy to visit him sooner and settled for hugging him tight for a minute.

“Shiro, I can't breathe,” Keith had complained, never much of a hugger despite his over-affectionate older sibling.

“Think of it as payback for taking so long to come see me,” Shiro shot back with a chuckle, ruffling his hair.

It had been shocking to see how different Keith looked since the last time Shiro saw him over a year ago. Even though it didn't look like he had grown an inch, his hair now touched his shoulders and he definitely had been hitting the gym more. Last Shiro saw him, Keith was this tiny guy graduating a specialized aviation school at only seventeen. Now he just turned nineteen, and growing quickly into manhood. He was at the top of his class, praised by all faculty despite his issues. Ah, Shiro remembered those very days when he also had been at the top, so many expectations and obligations to fulfill, tutoring, leading by example, drill practice, formations, studying, studying, studying. 

Shiro hadn't brought up the subject of Keith's disciplinary issues with his younger brother, figuring his own disappearance really had been responsible for such behavior. Maybe they would address that particular subject later, but for now, he had just let them enjoy their reunion. Just in case he ran into any more trouble, however, he’d given Keith the second key to his apartment. Somewhere for him to go in case things became too overwhelming for him to handle on his own. 

“Meet anybody cute, lately?”

Shiro had been mostly joking when he asked, but the bright blush that had suddenly flared across Keith’s nose caught him by delightful surprise.

“So there is someone~”

“It – it’s not like that!” Keith had refused to look at him, squeezing his soda can. 

“Oh?”

“It’s… complicated.”

Keith had refused to say anything else about it despite Shiro’s needling, and smoothly went into the subject of the Aerodynamics tutoring class he was teaching instead.

Shiro grinned into his coffee at the memory. It was nice to know that the past year of his absence hadn’t affected Keith too terribly. His little brother was still as adorable as ever. And it made Shiro all the more curious to meet the person who had managed to capture Keith’s attention.

 

* * *

 

Driving had never been one of Shiro’s favorite activities. If he was able to walk somewhere and the weather wasn’t too unbearable, he opted for that. His Jetta was still in good condition after his parents returned it to him from storage, having clung onto it as they hung onto all his other possessions, but the Base Exchange was only a ten minute walk from his side of the housing neighborhood. It wasn’t like he was going to do any major shopping right now, anyway, just some snacks and some beer for the night. Poor Paul, and now Rubis and Danny, have been blowing up his phone ever since he left the hospital, fanboying over the new raid added to the FPS space game they’ve obsessively played together before Shiro disappeared.

It was going to be nice getting back together with the guys, drinking and shooting evil virtual aliens in the face. Maybe his new arm would give him an advantage in the raid, ha ha. 

Speaking of his technologically advanced prosthetic, Shiro was still not used to it. The itching had become less intense at least, flaring up only now and then instead of continuous prickling torture. He still didn’t trust holding anything with it, either, even if he should get all the practice of using it like his normal arm if he could. He bought a spare controller just in case the other suffered any damages from being gripped too tightly. _Guardian’s Fate_ could be a very intense experience, especially its raids.

Then there was the prickling thought that everyone in the entire BX was staring at him as he shopped. Of course, his face was currently plastered all over the news as the decorated veteran who returned from MIA, but the feeling that his miraculous return was secondary compared to his new arm wouldn’t stop gnawing at his insides. His own family, including Keith, didn’t really acknowledge it, which was not as reassuring as he'd hoped it would be.

For tonight, at least, he’ll try not to think about it too much. He had a twelve-pack of good lager, some frozen pizza, and cheese sticks. It was going to be a good night.

He still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched even though he was the only one walking down the street that evening. The desert night felt good this time of year just before they were buried alive in the grainy, dry heat of a scorching summer. The breeze was actually cool and refreshing and smelled like blooming flowers. 

Shiro stopped in his tracks.

He didn’t know why.

It was like an instinctive kind of thing, like something deep in his genetics stretching all the way back to pre-civilization, an icy sensation in his limbs telling him that one more step would draw attention he really, really didn’t want.

It was only a little past seven; the base would still be very active at this time, especially for a Saturday night. Yet there were no headlights on the dark road that seemed to grow even darker. Shiro had about as much imagination as the next person, but it never made him think the wind had actually stopped blowing and all the evening sounds in the world went completely silent.

A chill shook his entire body.

He glanced behind him. He didn’t know why. Other than that creepy feeling of someone watching him wasn’t going away. There was nobody behind him, nobody there at all.

Well, that wasn’t creepy or anything.

It was a little funny that he was going on twenty-six and becoming afraid of the dark like this. He used to walk home so many times while growing up, well after dark usually, and never once been bothered by it. Now he couldn’t shake the eerie, contradictory feeling that he was simultaneously being watched and completely alone out here.

The lights of the streetlamps glowed brighter, speckles of gold in a world of inky black. They were strangely comforting, and his mind felt a little relaxed, even heavy, staring into their dancing radiance. 

He continued walking, shaking the fog out of his head and focusing on the goal to return home as quick as possible. Pizza, raid night, friends... 

He stopped. Those were definitely footsteps behind him. The shadows around him grew, and Shiro suddenly, wildly imagined that darkness at his back reaching for his neck with long, spider-like fingers - 

A single chime of his phone snapped the world back to normalcy, dogs barking, breeze blowing, streetlamps significantly less numerous and even dull. Digging the device out of his pocket, Shiro saw with a start that it was message from Keith.

[ _Hey I’m at your place._ ]

That was a surprise. Keith hadn’t mentioned coming over tonight.

[ _Okay. I wasn’t expecting you._ ] Shiro was getting way better at texting with just his left hand.

[ _Is it a problem?_ ]

[ _Nope. Just surprised._ ]

[ _Sorry. It was kind of a last minute decision._ ]

Shiro stopped, frowning. [ _Are you in trouble?_ ]

[ _Just wanted to hang out._ ]

Uh-oh, he wasn’t denying it. Shiro wondered if it had to do with that person he was talking about yesterday, the one that made his little brother act so flustered, if something had happened between them. Or at least, this was what Shiro hoped, that an unrequited crush was all it was, and not something worse.

Even before he was old enough to engage in classic teenage rebellion, Keith tended to keep the worst of his feelings completely to himself, opting to lash out in fury instead of talk. The Garrison wasn’t the first time Keith had gotten in trouble for his anger. Foster care had not been exactly kind to Keith before the Shirogane family took him in, and he had been just old enough, just turned four, to be affected by the pain at the sudden loss of his parents. But still far too young to understand what had happened.

A car accident, that’s what Shiro had heard. It’s what they’d told Keith, anyway, when he was older and able to process the concept of death better. But for four-year-old Keith, his parents simply left him at the babysitter’s while going out for a date night and never came back. He had no next of kin, none who would take him, anyway, so warden of the state he became until his adoption.

Shiro had always protected him from the first day Keith became part of the family, and after learning about his trouble with the Garrison, Shiro couldn’t ignore the pang of guilt for disappearing so suddenly like that. Keith had to relive a childhood trauma for the past year, and Shiro felt partially responsible. He had talked it over with Commander Iverson a few times in the past few weeks, and learned that Keith had been a breath away from getting washed out from the Galaxy Garrison entirely. Professionalism didn’t care for one’s private life; discipline meant separating your personal feelings and trials from doing your job. Keith still had a lot to learn in that regard.

The lights in the hall flickered as Shiro stepped into the apartment tower. That was the military for you – always fixing what wasn't broken and ignoring that stuff that actually needed attention. The lights had been flickering for the past week now, and seemed to be getting worse each night.

Here was hoping the light in the elevator didn’t go out as it flickered threateningly when the chrome deathtrap jerked in protest before carrying Shiro up to the fifth floor. As he shifted his weight, Shiro’s shoe suddenly wouldn’t move, like he had stepped in something very sticky and now his foot was glued in place.

A large dark stain colored this corner of the elevator, dry trails streaking down the wall as if something had been thrown and exploded on impact. For a split-second, Shiro had the revolting impression that this was blood. No, the stain was far too dark, almost black, for dried blood. And the smell wasn’t metallic, but sickeningly sweet, syrupy. Some unfortunate resident must have shaken a can of cola a bit too hard.

Dark stains streaked along the walls of the hallway, too, much smaller than the spot in the elevator but still having that same splatter pattern. That must have been some soda can. Or, more likely, rambunctious kids horsing around. Those stains lined his door, too. Of course they did. He would have to clean that in the morning, but for tonight, he was just going to pretend they weren’t there.

“Hey, bro!” Keith greeted from the couch, laptop balancing on his lap, Cocoa curled next him. “I went ahead and preheated the oven for you.”

“You knew I was having pizza?” Shiro asked as he placed his groceries on the kitchen counter after kicking off his shoes by the door. 

“Uh, that’s like your whole Saturday routine, isn’t it? Xbox and pizza?” Keith pushed his laptop to the side, and navigated his way around the boxes to lean over the counter. He wore a jacket Shiro had never seen before, army green with a white hood and looked a little too big for him. 

Shiro put the beer away and left one bottle out for himself, as Keith stared at him with eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I have one?”

“And when do you turn twenty-one again? Not for another th- two years?”

Those hopeful indigo eyes now rolled to the ceiling. “C’mon, Shiro, don’t be lame. It’s not like I’m going anywhere, who's gonna know?”

Shiro arched an eyebrow. “First of all, _I_ will know. And you're staying the night?”

“My roommate kinda kicked me out of the room so he can have his girl over.”

“And what if I was going to have someone over?”

Keith snorted with a grin. “Like who?”

Shiro’s mouth dropped open in mock indignation. “… _Brat._ No beer for you.”

Keith looked like he was about to say something back with that smart mouth of his when a noise cut them both off. A heavy splash that came from the bathroom, like someone fell into a tub full of water. “What was that?” Shiro asked, and it would have been a rhetorical question if Keith didn’t look so shocked… like he had been caught doing something he very much shouldn’t have. Keith may have been good about hiding his true feelings. Guilt? Not so much.

“Um… that would be my friend,” Keith finally answered under Shiro’s sharp gaze.

“You brought someone over?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Um…”

“Keith, I don’t mind if you want to bring your friends, but you should have told me. He’s not spending the night, too, is he?”

Keith shrugged. “He’s a bit of a weirdo that does his own thing. I can kick him out now if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” Good thing he had bought two frozen pizzas for the night.

“You’re not mad?”

“Just give me a heads-up next time.” He would have at least made a bit more of an effort to clean up. He was always a little paranoid that strangers were given the impression that he lived in complete squalor if his place was anything less than immaculate. 

Keith nodded just as Shiro heard the bathroom door open.

“Thanks for lettin’ me use your bathroom, bro.”

Shiro did not recognize the voice at all, higher pitched and nasally compared to Keith's soft-spoken tenor, and a tall, lanky young man came into the living room with wet brown skin and wearing only a black towel that hugged his slender waist. Shiro definitely made note of Keith's face growing a fresh shade of pink from the corner of his eye. Very, very interesting.

“Hiya, Keith's brother, I'm Lance,” the mystery boy greeted with a wide, friendly smile, sticking his hand out. “Captain Shirogane, right? From the news?”

“Pleased to meet you. Call me ‘Shiro’.”

Shiro hesitated for a short breath before taking Lance's hand very gently with his prosthetic. His blue eyes shot wide open. “Dude, your arm is so cool!”

“Lance!” Keith hissed viciously.

“Oh, was that insensitive?”

Shiro waved it away with a shake of his head and a smile. “It's fine. Still getting kind of used to it myself.”

“Speakin’ of _fine...”_ That grin is back on Lance's face as he stared at Shiro and dragged his gaze down to pop back up with an impish smirk. “You sure you're related to gross Keith over there?”

“Shut up, Lance!” Keith growled, and he yanked off the army jacket to bundle it in a messy ball and toss it into Lance's face with a soft smack. “And go put some clothes on for fuck’s sake!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lance gave Shiro another smile that sent a shiver through him before walking back to the bathroom, hips swaying a little wider than natural. A drop of water trailed down the dip of his spine, which didn’t escape Shiro’s notice. He could definitely see why Keith would be into this guy. He was _overflowing_ with pheromones – that had to be the reason for the sudden surge in temptation Shiro felt deep inside.

“So, Lance is your _friend,”_ Shiro asked as he leaned against the counter across from Keith. “The guy you were talking about earlier?”

“He’s not my _friend,”_ Keith snapped, ‘friend’ rolling off his tongue like it tasted bad.

Shiro’s beer bottle paused at his lips. “Oh?”

Keith glanced away. “I already told you that it's complicated. And not like _that_ kind of complicated, either. He just likes hanging around me for some reason.” He jumped forward and snatched the beer out of Shiro’s hand, then stared directly at him with a defiant gaze as he took a deep swig. Brat.

“How did you two meet?”

“He’s in my class,” Keith answered with a noncommittal shrug. “He’s just a cargo pilot, but he thinks he’s my rival or something. It’s so stupid. So he hangs around to, I dunno, prove something or whatever.”

Shiro took his beer back.

“I’m gonna need more of that,” Keith remarked, gesturing at the bottle with his finger and grinned. "That's good shit." 

“No.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro was three beers deep when he stopped caring about Keith and Lance helping him get through the twelve pack. “I’ve been twenty for a few months already so close enough,” Lance pointed out as he popped the lid off his bottle. “Mullet over here is the baby who needs supervision.”

“Shut up.”

Whatever their relationship, there was no denying that things were tense between them. On the surface, they sounded like they were just mercilessly ribbing each other like bros tend to do, but Shiro knew Keith well enough to hear the underlying threat in his seemingly playful tone. Lance was either oblivious to it because he didn’t know Keith as well as Shiro did, or he was choosing to ignore it and just keep on poking the bear.

“You sure you’ve never played _Guardian’s Fate_ before?” Shiro asked as he watched Lance take down hordes of mobs with only a sniper rifle, each shot fired with precision and purpose. His party was taking a break from the raid after the main boss wiped the floor with their asses for the fifth time.

“Not this one, no,” Lance replied as three more alien hostiles fell one after the other in his scope. He laughed. “I _love_ FPS games, though, oh my God. If I wasn’t tryin’ to be a pilot, I would definitely be a sniper in special forces or some shit.”

Keith snorted rudely from the couch.

“Hey, you’re just peanut-butter-jelly that I have the highest Marksman achievement in our class. It’s the _one_ thing I’ve completely kicked your ass in.”

Keith smirked from over his laptop. “So you’re actually admitting that I’m better than you in everything else.”

“I totally did _not_ say that. Y-you sit back there and look at your weird porn or whatever.” He scooted closer to Shiro, nudging their shoulders together. There was a salty taste to his scent that was not unpleasant. “Your brother and I will enjoy killin’ some aliens together.” And he gave Shiro a blinding smile that made him a little dizzy.

The oven timer rang from the kitchen. Saved by cheese sticks. “I’ll get that,” Shiro said cheerfully as he quickly rose to his feet before the other two could react.

Whatever was going on between those two, it felt like Lance was using his natural charm to piss Keith off. Shiro might just be imagining it, he only met Lance a few hours ago and still didn’t know him from a can of paint. Keith refusing to elaborate on the nature of their relationship didn't help, either. Shiro really hoped they were just begrudging friends. He wanted no part of anything more complex than that. 

 

* * *

 

His bedroom was shrouded in thick darkness when Shiro woke up. He hadn’t gone to bed until about three that morning after staying up with Keith and his “friend” Lance, getting drunk, talking loudly, not caring about who heard them, not caring that the more Shiro drank, the worse he got at the raid. His party ended the night on complete failure but everyone had been too buzzed to mind that much. The raid had just opened and wasn’t going anywhere for a while yet. 

Now the apartment was deathly quiet and dark. Nothing but an empty void lay outside his bedroom window that the light of the streetlamps couldn’t penetrate, if they were there at all. For a long moment, he lay in bed, so silent and still that he could hear his own heartbeat. And the more he listened, the faster it became.

Did this eerie silence wake him up?

The creak of a footstep down the hall sounded like a small explosion in the stillness. Probably Keith or Lance using the bathroom, Shiro concluded. It felt comforting knowing he wasn’t alone in this apartment. He looked for Cocoa, but she wasn’t in her usual spot next to his lap. The footsteps shuffled closer as their owner left the bathroom and then stopped right outside his bedroom.

Icy sweat beaded over Shiro’s skin.

“Keith?”

Nothing responded from that maw of darkness beyond that door.

Shiro swallowed and tried again. “Lance?” He didn’t sound as confident this time.

Chances were good that the person from the bathroom had continued on to the guest room or living room, and Shiro simply hadn’t heard them. Chances were especially good that Shiro was still asleep.

A flash of blue light illuminated the apartment outside his bedroom, and Shiro was on his feet in an instant. “Guys!?”

That could have been lightning.

It wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t.

That flash came from _inside_ his apartment, not outside.

“Guys?”

Still no answer as he marched down the hall. Shiro flicked on the living room light but no light came on. Power outage?

_Tink tinktink tink tink...!!!_

That sound he heard in that one dream he had back at the hospital, like something sharp tapping against glass. Swallowing hard, he approached the living room window. Instead of a void outside, dozens of golden lights flickered.

_Tink tinktink TINK TINKTINKTINKTINKTINKTINKTINKTINK_

There was nothing outside his window. Nothing but darkness and dancing lights. Frowning, Shiro reached down to undo the locks and open the balcony door. 

The door didn’t budge. Not in the slightest. Like a false door fixated to the wall. 

Shiro backed up quickly, shivering beneath his own sweat and a heavy weight pressing down on him carrying a terrible thought of being sealed in his own apartment. His right arm _burned._ The rest of his body had frozen in place.

The lights popped on.

He blinked rapidly at the sudden brightness flooding the living room. The weight had vanished, and so did the burning sensation in his arm. He could see the streetlamps and lights from a few houses. It was raining. 

Releasing all the air he didn’t realize he was holding, Shiro wiped the sweat from his brow with a sigh. Then, perhaps out of curiosity, he tried the door again. It opened with no resistance, creaking ever so slightly against its runner. Cool air greeted him. Rain and crickets sang together in gentle spring harmony. 

Closing and locking the balcony door, Shiro shook his head and went back to bed. First stress dreams, and now sleep walking.

At least the other two weren’t awake to see this mess he was becoming.

 

* * *

 

_“Not tryin’ to be an ass or anythin’, but you are definitely gettin’ weaker, my bro.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_There was more tonight, much more. His barrier was weaker. One of those things actually got inside._

_Ugly little creatures. The worst kind as far as he’s concerned. It's all the more infuriating knowing they are just being toyed with._

_There is a crinkling of a plastic bag and then the smell hits him. Juicy and thick and metallic and makes his mouth water with longing. “Lance?” he gasps, breath shallow, heart racing._

_“I got it just for you. Only three days in the ground beneath a waxin’ moon. Perfect, right?”_

_"You knew about this?"_

_"Uh, remember what happened last time someone didn't do his homework about different tribes? Now look at us."_

_He closes his eyes tight, hands balling into fists like he's physically clutching the last threads of his sanity. He breathes heavily. The air itself tastes delicious._

_“I… can’t…”_

_It’s everything he can do to not rip the plastic bag out of those hands._

_“Dude, you’re goin’ crazy. When was the last time you fed?"_

_"Why... do you care?" It's harder to talk. Every time he opens his mouth, he's aware of how empty it is._

_"I may not be very happy with our circumstances, but I meant it when I said I would take care of you."_

_He shakes his head, whimpering. He can't, he can't._

_But he wants to, oh fuck, he wants to._

_"You can't protect him if you're like this. We don't know how long until he wakes up again. The princess said - "_

_“I know what she said!”_

_His hands are shaking. His entire body trembles with need, and he bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. No, he can’t. He’s gone for so long without, tried so hard…_

_And that’s preciously the problem. He can’t deny it._

_The plastic bag crinkles loudly, and hands stained deep black red withdraw the fleshy mound into the open. His heart is pulsing in his head, all around him, all senses narrowing down to this_ smell _and he salivates in excitement. He’s hit with a wild, dizzying lust that has nothing to do with self-sacrifice or the protection of another. He groans._

_“Do this, and you both win.” That voice is so soft and reasonable and eases away all his misgivings._

_“A-are you using your fucking power on me?”_

_“Only because you are bein' ridiculous. Look, I’m… I’m not exactly made for fightin’ like this, if what happened earlier today is any indication, so I kinda need ya at the top of your game, yeah? And so does that guy in there."_

_He can't stop the whine seeping from his throat. Every nerve in his body thrums with need._

_“…I-if I do this… promise me… something. Promise, okay?”_

_“Uh. Sure. Anythin’.”_

_He gathers the last of his strength to push this out before he caves completely._ “Stop trying to seduce my brother!”

_“Oooh, are ya jealous?”_

_The only answer he has is his teeth sinking deep, deliciously deep into that soft organ as he all but spills over the other youth's lap, his tongue rolling over the savory taste that’s raw and wet and squishes between his jaws and drips down his chin in pulpy pieces. A moan squeezes out of him as he eats, as he feels a hand stroke the top of his head. He shudders with ecstasy as thick meat slides down his throat and fills his starved belly._

_“I can’t help what I am, buddy. And from what I’m seein’, neither can you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is obsessed with the game Destiny and yall can pry that headcanon out of my cold dead hands. 
> 
> [Tumble tumble tumble](http://redrobokitty.tumblr.com)~


End file.
